bathroom party. “The cat startled you.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Mary said finally. “The cat. It surprised me. When I came in, it was sitting in the sink. Just like that. Sorry I screamed.”
“I guess Anne had a cat,” Judy said. “The litter box is right there, under the sink. See?”
“I remember now,” said the detective. “We made a note of the cat box last night, but we didn’t find the cat. Well, here he is.”
“You should take him, Mare,” Judy was saying. “He needs a home now. Can you have a cat in your apartment?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want a cat.”
Judy scoffed. “Somebody has to take him, and me and Bennie have dogs. You had a cat once, didn’t you?”
“Okay, I’ll take him. Well, maybe we should go now.”
“That’s the spirit, DiNunzio,” Bennie said, and the next sound was the opening of the bathroom door. “Maybe taking this cat is the thing you can do for Anne, huh?”
“Maybe,” Mary answered, and the curtain ruffled again as the three lawyers, two detectives, and one confused cat left the bathroom.
Anne climbed out of the tub after she heard the front door close, then slipped out of the bathroom and hurried downstairs. She knew Mary would tell the others she was alive as soon as she had the chance. That meant Uncle Sam had to get to the office.
She slipped on her cartoon sunglasses and skedaddled.
Anne had parked the Mustang in the closest lot she could get, five blocks up Locust Street, so she had to hoof it past small shops, businesses, and a string of rowhouses converted to architect, accountant, and law offices. She kept her head down but everybody thinking she was dead was a damn good disguise. Not to mention that the sidewalks were full of people dressed in green foam Statue of Liberty crowns, George W. Bush masks, and red- white-and-blue umbrella hats. Anne counted two more Uncle Sams, and they waved.
Locust Street was a tangle of traffic. Like most of Philadelphia, the street was wide enough to accommodate only a horse-drawn buggy, and permitted just one-way traffic. She had been told ad nauseum that Ben Franklin himself had designed the city, but she thought his famous grid lead only to gridlock. She looked ahead, down the street in front of the building that housed Rosato & Associates. The traffic bottlenecked there, because of news vans from ABC, Court TV, CNN, and the local networks parked illegally. Even at this distance Anne could see that reporters, photographers, videocams, and satellite feeds besieged the office building. The press presence had more than doubled. Who would have guessed that a pretty lawyer being murdered before a sex trial was news?
Anne pushed up her cartoon sunglasses and plowed ahead. She scanned the street almost constantly. Kevin could be here. In a twisted way, he would want to be near her, even if she were dead. He might even want to catch a glimpse of Bennie. Or Judy. It worried her. Could they be in danger from Kevin? Not likely, but not impossible. She had learned from Erotomania 101 that the delusional often transferred their fixations.
She checked her watch. 12:30. The deposition was at one o’clock, but she didn’t know how the press had found out about it. It wasn’t public record, and she was sure Rosato & Associates hadn’t leaked it. She hurried closer to the melee, lowering her stovepipe. Two blocks away, then one. No one should be looking for her, but a few of the reporters had come to know her from chasing her around on the Chipster. She pulled her red brim down. She had been worrying so much about Kevin, she hadn’t focused on the fact that Uncle Sam would have to withstand media scrutiny, too.
Anne reached her office building and threaded her way through the crowd of media, keeping her eyes peeled behind the big glasses. Reporters sweated through their summer suits and TV makeup. She spotted one TV anchorwoman she knew and tilted her head down, checking her watch. 12:45. Tourists and onlookers thronged on the sidewalk, adding to the glut. She had to get going. She waded into the
Suddenly a cell phone started ringing, and it took Anne a minute to realize it was hers. Who could be calling? The whole world thought she was dead. She unlatched her messenger bag, withdrew her cell phone, and flipped it open. “Yes?” she said, keeping her voice low.
“Ms. Sherwood, this is Dr. Marc Goldberger.”
“Yes, of course,” Anne answered, surprised.
“I understand now why you were calling me. I just spoke with my supervisor. You weren’t completely honest with me, Ms. Sherwood. If that
“I think you do. Kevin Satorno escaped from prison a few days ago. Did you know that when you called?”
“Escaped?” Anne felt her heart stop. She had guessed as much, but it terrified her to think it was really true.
“Are you going to tell me that you didn’t know that? That it was just a coincidence that you called me today?”
Anne couldn’t reply. She couldn’t speak. She pressed End and fought a frantic urge to crawl under something and hide. She didn’t know what to do, except not panic. She forced herself to breathe until her heartbeat returned to normal. Suddenly alone in the noisy, smoky crowd, she looked up at her office building. It took her only a second to punch in the number on her cell.
Mary must have been waiting for her call. “Anne, where are you? Are you here?”
“Help!” was all Anne could say, then she got it together. “I’m right outside. Can you get me past security?”
“It’s Herb, and we told him to expect a new messenger, dressed funny. You still wearing your beard?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way down.”
Anne wedged her way through the press and hurried through the revolving door to the building, which delivered her into the air-conditioned chill of a large marble lobby with restored plaster walls. She took a deep, relieved breath, but the mahogany security desk stood like a hurdle in front of the elevator bank. Mary may have called down to get Anne admitted, but there was still a chance the guard would recognize her, especially Hot And Heavy Herb. She had disguised her face but not her chest, which was all he ever noticed. Thanks to him, Rosato & Associates had the safest breasts in Philadelphia.
Herb’s gaze zoomed in on her independent woman as she reached the desk. “Hello, honey,” he said, with what he hoped was a sexy smirk. He reeked of Aramis, and his navy uniform fit taut against his short, heavyset frame. He wore his pants with the belt buckled high, like Fred Mertz. “Why are you dressed like Uncle Sam, for a job interview?”
“It got me past the reporters, didn’t it?” Anne kept her head down, pulled over the black spiral log book, and scribbled 36C on the solid line. “If I’m hired today, I don’t want them recognizing me and following me everywhere.”
“So why don’t you take it off? You’re inside now.”
“I like the power.”
Suddenly the elevator doors opened with a discreet
